Now would you see this aged Thorn, For oft there sits between the heap And that same pond of which I spoke, And to herself she cries, At all times of the day and night And there, beside the Thorn, she sits And to herself she cries, "Oh misery! oh misery! Oh woe is me! oh misery!'' Now wherefore, thus, by day and night, And why sits she beside the Thorn And wherefore does she cry?— I cannot tell; I wish I could; The hillock like an infant's grave, I never heard of such as dare BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. SOUTHEY. It was a summer evening, Old Kaspar's work was done; And by him sported on the green She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, That he beside the rivulet In playing there had found; He came to ask what he had found, That was so large, and smooth, and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy And then the old man shook his head, 'Tis some poor fellow's skull, said he, Who fell in the great victory. I find them in the garden, for The ploughshare turns them out; Now tell us what 'twas all about, Now tell us all about the war, It was the English, Kaspar cried; But every body said, quoth he, My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by, They burn'd his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly; So with his wife and child he fled, With fire and sword the country round And many a childing mother then, But things like that, you know, must be They say it was a shocking sight, After the field was won, Lay rotting in the sun; But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. Great praise the Duke of Marlbro' won, And our good Prince Eugene. Nay-nay-my little girl, quoth he, And every body praised the duke, Why that I cannot tell, said he, LINES WITH THE AUTUMNAL CROCUS. MARY HOWITT. THY bower, with vine unshaded, Than time can e'er efface ; Thy garden-thine no longer Have lost each look of grace; For the stranger's foot has gone there, and left a ruined place. The past came o'er my spirit- And life's undreamed-of scathe? Meet fortune's keenest dart; Then look on all thou lov'd from youth, and patiently depart! 'Twas so in vain I sought thee Within my garden-bower; And from the fields I brought thee, Pale Autumn's faithful flower. |